Valentine's Day
by Voldieissocool
Summary: It's Valentine's Day! John is keen to celebrate but Sherlock doesn't know what to do. Fluffy oneshot. Johnlock.


Author's Note: Thankyou for reading! This is just a really cheesy oneshot. Sorry if it's out of character, I wrote it at like one-thirty in the morning.  
This is for the lovely Nicole :)  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, sob sob.

* * *

Valentine's Day

It was a perfectly blue sunshiny day that John awoke to.

The sun was streaming in through their bedroom window, throwing a beam of light across their bed.

Sherlock mumbled and rolled over.

Why was it so confoundedly _bright_ in here? he thought, pulling all the blankets into a ball around him.

John, who was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, stare disapprovingly at the back of Sherlock's head and attempted to tug a corner of the blanket back.

Still curled up in a ball, Sherlock made a noise like an angry cat and tugged the blankets back.

John gave up his futile attempt and instead, rolled Sherlock over and sat on his stomach.

Sherlock coughed and, cracking open an eye, glared at John.

"Good morning." said John, leaning forward and gently kissing him.

Sherlock stared at him.

"You're being unusually…affectionate…today." he said, not moving.

"Of course," said John, the faintest trace of a blush colouring his cheeks. He smiled. "It's Valentine's Day!"

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

"What?" said John, sitting up.

"I hate Valentine's Day," said Sherlock, yawning. "Sentimental nonsense."

"Well…fine, then." said John, rolling off Sherlock's torso. He felt feeling return to his liver gratefully.

John got out of the warm bed slightly reluctantly and, reaching for his clothes, which were lying puddled on the floor, set about getting dressed.

_Oh dear,_ thought Sherlock. _I've offended him._

"John," he said, disentangling himself from the blankets and getting out of the bed. "I'm sorry."

He stepped close to John, kissed him lightly on the nose, and began to button up his shirt.

"Of course we can be…sentimental," he mumbled, fastening the last button and pressing a kiss to John's cheek, "-if you want."

John gave him a smile, reaching up to ruffle Sherlock's curls before pulling their heads close enough for a kiss.

"Good," he said, breaking apart from Sherlock. "Get dressed, then, and I'll tell you what we're going to do."

* * *

Sherlock still wasn't properly awake when he came down to get breakfast.

John handed him a plate with eggs, bacon, tomato and mushrooms all arranged in a face.

Sherlock internally cringed…in a good, cheesy way.

He kissed John on the cheek and, taking the cutlery that was being offered to him, sat down at their dining table, which was, in reality, a desk which had been cleared of Sherlock's debris.

While he was waiting for John to sit down-he was a psychopath, he wasn't _rude_-he smelled the food hungrily.

Admittedly, he wasn't usually the hungriest of people when he woke first thing in the morning, but it smelled mouthwateringly good and his stomach gave a soft grumble.

Obviously, Mrs Hudson had helped cook it. Over the smell of the cooked breakfast her perfume lingered faintly.

He smiled to himself. John was so…for want of a better word…adorable, sometimes.

Joining him at the table with some tea for the two of them and his own breakfast, John studied Sherlock's face.

"What?" he said, tucking into his breakfast.

Sherlock swallowed the mouthful of bacon he was eating and, cutting up some tomato, replied, "Nothing. It just…seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for just one day."

John opened his mouth to say that, if he could be bothered, he'd go to that much trouble every day, for Sherlock, but he was cut off.

"And this," he said, thickly, through a mouthful of mushroom and tomato, "is," he swallowed, "delicious."

"Thanks." said John, blushing softly.

There wasn't any more conversation as the two plates were finished.

Sherlock let out a contented sigh and stretched out in his chair, wrapping his feet around John's ankles.

John, finishing his last mouthful, stared at him in mock disapproval.

Sherlock smiled, taking a cup of tea.

"So what now?" he asked.

He was actually slightly confused as to what Valentine's Day _actually _entailed.

John took his cup of tea, smiling to himself at the matching mugs, and said in reply, "I thought, maybe…we could do something together?"

When Sherlock tilted his head to one side questioningly, he took it as a sign of interest and continued.

"We could go for a picnic, if you want…" he said, uncertainly. He'd never been one for romantic Valentine's Day's with any of his other partners previously, but Sherlock was special.

He wanted to make it special.

Sherlock bit his lip, thinking.

"If it's too cheesy or romantic, or…whatever, then we don't have to go," said John, thinking sadly of the picnic basket he'd prepared (with Mrs Hudson's expert assistance) which was sitting in the fridge. "We could just stay home, if that's what you want, Sherlock."

He took a long sip of tea.

"No," said Sherlock, curling his long fingers around the mug's handle. "Let's go for a picnic."

* * *

The park was large and green, with the sunlight filtering through the tree canopy and dappling the grass below with flecks of light.

It seemed as though John and Sherlock were not the only ones who had decided to have a picnic.

The park was filled with couples. Couples walking, couples laughing, couples kissing.

Sherlock surveyed the behaviour of his fellow humans with interest, particularly one couple, who seemed to be wrestling with each other's tongues.

John spread out the picnic rug and motioned for Sherlock to sit down, who did so compliantly, settling himself into a cross-legged position.

John smiled. Sherlock looked so…out of place, like a well-groomed cat in an alley of strays.

All the same, it wasn't just Sherlock's aloof nature that made him look different. John could tell something was on the consulting detective's mind.

"What's up?" he asked.

Sherlock turned towards him. "Oh, nothing." he replied.

John wasn't convinced.

"Come on, Sherlock. _Something's_ up. You look as though somebody's messed up your sock index, or something."

Sherlock sighed. "It's silly," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

John gave him a stern look.

"Alright, then," said Sherlock, very much reminded of Mycroft telling him off for one of his experiments when he was a child. "I just feel, well…a little awkward…I mean," he said, clearing his throat, "We're not exactly calling ourselves boyfriends, or anything…and…" he trailed off, looking uncertain.

John took his hand, wanting to hug Sherlock, because _finally_ was telling him _what_ was going on in that head of his. _Finally._

"I'm in uncharted emotional territory," Sherlock mumbled, falling back on a pirate metaphor. "I don't usually get _sentimental_."

John chuckled. "You don't have to tell _me_ that."

Sherlock gave him a reproachful look. "I'm just not sure what to do in this situation, John." he said, looking down at their jumbled fingers.

John leant over and kissed him gently.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not too sure, either."

Sherlock, who was blushing slightly and feeling very exposed, gave John a quick kiss on the cheek before reaching for the picnic basket.

"Shall we eat?" he asked.

John untangled their fingers and beamed. "Oh, Sherlock, I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

After the two had finished the picnic lunch, John packed all the picnic things back into the basket and lay back on the rug, cradling his head in his arms.

"That was a rather good lunch," said Sherlock, lying down next to John and putting his hands in his coat pockets. He never usually ate this many meals, not even at Christmas. "I'm beginning to see the merits of this day."

John smiled to himself. Oh, Sherlock hadn't even experienced _half_ of the…merits of this day.

He stretched his arms up in the air in front of him and wiggled his fingers.

Sherlock turned his head to the side and watched John's face. The soft afternoon light sparkled in his entrancing eyes and danced across his face, as a soft breeze ruffled his hair.

Sherlock, suddenly feeling oddly affectionate, reached over and gently ran his fingers along John's jaw, staring into the handsome doctor's eyes.

John was a little taken aback by the intensity of Sherlock's gaze. His eyes, a clear, bright, blue, smiled at him.

John put his arms back down by his side, and took Sherlock's hand.

"Thankyou, John." Sherlock said softly, moving closer, kissing John and pulling him into his arms.

"For what, exactly?" John replied, nuzzling his head into Sherlock's shoulder.

"For giving me one of…one of the happiest days of my life," said Sherlock, blushing deeply and watching the leaves rustle overhead. "Although, admittedly, the food has been the best part so far."

"So far?" said John, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," whispered Sherlock into John's ear, "I believe there's an altogether more…physical…appeal to this day?"  
John winked at him. "You'll find out, soon enough." he replied, snuggling into Sherlock's arms contentedly.

There were many couples in the park on that sunny afternoon, but none, John felt as he lay there, wrapped snugly in Sherlock's arms, enjoying a fleeting, perfect moment together, were so perfectly and content as the two of them.


End file.
